The Moscow Sleepers

34

Dieter Nimitz had come home early. It was a Wednesday and ‘home’ today was the one-bedroom bachelor apartment in an anonymous block in Woluwe Saint-Pierre, the Brussels suburb he lived in during the week. He’d lived there for ten years but it was no more homely than the day he had moved in. He never invited visitors there. On the rare occasions he entertained, he took his guests to one of the many excellent restaurants in the area. It would not have occurred to him to invite them back to his flat.

But tonight was different. As he made some preparations – a tray with coffee cups and milk and sugar, a cafetière – he glanced around, embarrassed by the bleak soullessness of the place. It didn’t normally bother him that there were no pictures on the walls, no cushions on the beige-coloured chairs and sofa, no ornaments of any kind. He still thought of the house in Blankensee as home, though as life with Irma became more chilly and difficult, he increasingly found himself regarding his Brussels apartment as a refuge.

He opened the cupboard where he kept some bottles of wine and spirits. Should he offer his guest a Scotch or a cognac? He wasn’t sure. He felt nervous. He knew that when he had talked to Matilda Burnside, his office colleague, about his background – told her the secret that he had kept concealed all these years – he was taking an irrevocable step; that he was starting on a journey into the unknown from which there was no turning back. Where it would lead he didn’t know, but he was about to find out what the next stage would be.

As he dithered, holding a bottle of cognac in his hand, the bell rang. He hastily returned the bottle to the cupboard and went to open the door. A good-looking man in his mid-forties stood outside. He was wearing an open-necked blue check shirt and a navy blue pullover and he looked friendly and informal.

‘Good evening, Dieter,’ he said holding out a hand and smiling. ‘I hope I’m not too early.’

‘Hello, Peter’, replied Dieter, shaking hands. ‘Of course not. Come in.’

He had met Matilda Burnside’s husband a few times before, at the annual garden party given by their director, and once at a British Embassy cocktail party he had been invited to. He rather admired the man – he always seemed relaxed, open and confident – all the things Dieter would like to have been, but wasn’t. And of course he was married to Matilda. Lucky him, thought Dieter, because unlike Dieter, Burnside had made an obviously happy marriage. Dieter had sensed early on that Burnside was more than Counsellor Economic at the British Embassy, and this had been confirmed when the ‘help’ Matilda had offered turned out to take the form of her husband.

Burnside came into the flat and Dieter motioned to his guest to sit down in one of the living room’s beige chairs. Hovering by the sofa, he asked if his guest would like coffee, but the Englishman said no. ‘Cognac? offered Dieter, thinking it would give him a few moments to calm his nerves while he poured out the drinks. But again his guest declined.

There seemed no further way to delay the conversation, so he sat down on the sofa and looked at Burnside. He was just about to thank him for coming when Burnside said, ‘I was very interested in what Matilda told me about your circumstances. I’m here to offer you whatever help I can.’

‘Yes. She thought you might have some ideas about it all—’

‘I certainly do,’ he broke in, smiling disarmingly, and Dieter relaxed a little.

‘Has Matilda explained my situation? Is there anything more you need me to tell you?’

‘I think it would be helpful if you told me your story as you told it to Matilda, just to be sure I have all the details correct.’ So Dieter went through the tale again: about how he had been recruited at an early age; how he had been directed into his job in the Commission; how he had met and married Irma, and his increasing uneasiness about her and what she was now involved in.

Peter Burnside listened intently as Dieter spoke, leaning forward in his chair and watching him closely. When he had finished, he said, ‘Thank you. That’s all very clear. That is one of the most fascinating stories I have ever heard. Your life almost epitomises the changes in Europe over the last few decades. But it must have been very hard, so I hope I can do something to help now.’

‘I am glad I have told you,’ replied Dieter. It was such a relief to meet somebody who seemed to understand, and who could also help him get to the bottom of what had happened to him.

‘The first thing to say,’ said Burnside, ‘is that I don’t think you personally have anything to worry about.’ Dieter realised Burnside was referring to his being planted in the West by the Russians. Burnside went on, ‘Your wife’s activities, on the other hand, seem to me to be of genuine concern. It sounds from what you have said that she is actively engaged in an operation that is potentially very damaging.’

Dieter nodded. ‘That is why I talked to Matilda. I have been very worried about it.’

‘I know, and you are brave to come forward. It’s much appreciated.’

Dieter was beginning to feel better, but even so he hesitated before asking, ‘Can you tell me what it is that Irma is involved in? Is it something illegal?’

Peter Burnside sat back in his chair, looking as if he didn’t know for certain what the answer to those questions was. He sighed, looked down at his hands resting in his lap. With a slightly puzzled face he said, ‘As you know, your wife has been sending students from her school abroad. To the United States and now it seems, from what you have told me, to the UK. Possibly other places as well, we don’t know. There’s nothing wrong about that in principle; nothing illegal either, as far as I can tell. But the students she’s sending all seem to be refugees, from what you’ve said – either orphans or long separated from their parents. That means that no one in Germany has any stake in what happens to them – or in finding out where they have been sent. And it looks as though some of them don’t return.’

Dieter said, ‘Yes. I told Matilda about the brochure of a place in England Irma was in touch with. But why are these children sent there? And to America?’

‘I don’t know but we need to find out. If you are right in thinking that Irma may be working with the Russians, then whatever is going on in Britain and America will not be good – either for us or for the children. You said that Irma’s school took only the brightest of the refugee children, which may mean that they are being taught some sort of specialist skill. But all this is guesswork until we can find out more.’

‘Do you think Irma knows what is happening to the children?’

Burnside shrugged slightly and sighed. ‘I’m afraid she not only knows but she’s playing an active part in it, probably by selecting the children.’

Dieter looked shocked, and Burnside added quickly, ‘That’s why I want to ask you to help us by finding out as much as you can about what she’s doing.’

Dieter nodded.

‘But you must be careful,’ went on Peter Burnside. ‘It could be very dangerous for you if you were caught. I think this is a serious business and they will do whatever they can to protect it.’

Dieter stood up. His face was flushed. The downtrodden, sad-looking, grey figure had turned into a warrior. ‘The Russians,’ he said, ‘have played me for a fool. I will not stand by and let them destroy the lives of these poor children. You can count on me to do whatever I can to help.’

‘Thank you.’ Peter Burnside was amazed by the change in the man. ‘If you have any information to pass on, ask Matilda to arrange a meeting with me. But please,’ he repeated, ‘be very careful.’